


A Game of Her Own

by itsmorgan



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Violence, sansa becomes a basass, taking a book out of arya starks personal library
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmorgan/pseuds/itsmorgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of her father, Sansa is still expected to marry the one that ordered his death; the king. And when she sees his head on a spike, she won't stop until Joffrey's head is right beside it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Her Own

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the moment I saw this scene, I kind of ignored the rest of the plot and played this one out in my head. I had such high hopes for Joffrey even though he was the biggest little shit in TV history. I just started reading the books but I've watched Game of Thrones three times out of obsession.  
> I own nothing.

* * *

 

I sink to my knees, shoving the guard that had been holding me back off of me in the process. I just witnessed the beheading of my own father, at the orders of my betrothed, King Joffery of house Baratheon, first of his name. He promised me that if my father confessed to the crimes that he didn’t mean to commit, that he’d show mercy. He lied.

We make eye contact briefly, and for a split second I think I see sadness in his light eyes when he sees me in the amount of pain I am in, but the moment is gone as soon as it came. Joffery strides past me, stepping on the train of my dress, and enters the safety of the castle, followed closely by his mother and the Hound.

The same guard that held me back is now picking me up off of the ground and is half carrying and half dragging me back to my bed chambers. I think about how I’ll go to Joffery and ask him to kill me as well, but I know that he won’t because he’s sick and sadistic and loves to see me in pain. And I can’t be in pain after I’ve died, only peace would follow the quick blade of the sharp sword that would make contact with the ivory skin of my neck.

I spend days curled up in the same spot on my bed, not eating or drinking, or bathing. I stay in the same mint green dress as I wore the day of my father’s death, my hair sticking to my face by tears, sweat, and dirt.

“Please my Lady, you must eat,” one of my handmaidens tells me but I ignore her. “You’ll starve to death.”

“Good,” I spit. “I’ll happily greet death as if he is my dearest friends.”

I hear her huff and walk away from my bed, only to return a short while later with someone else. Large, rough hands reach under my neck and my knees and effortlessly lift me off my bed. I should protest but I don’t. They could do anything to me now and I wouldn’t mind.

I’m placed gingerly into a steaming tub of water, still fully clothed. I look up at my assailant to see the Hound staring down at me with a sad face. He used to scare me, with the way he towers over everyone, his foul language, and his love for blood. Many people are afraid of the large scar that is covering almost half of his face, but I am not. Lord Baelish told me once how he came to get it, and now I just feel sorry for the Hound.

“The King requests your presence today,” he says gruffly before making his exit.

I do not make bathing or redressing an easy job for my handmaidens. After they struggle to remove all of the layers of my dress, the water has already run cold and I’m shivering. I stand limply as they lift my arms and my legs to stick my limbs through the fabrics of my smallclothes and my thick dress. One brushes out my hair until it’s nearly dry and begins pinning and twisting my hair until it is in an appropriate style.

A knight, the one that stands watch at my door all night, escorts me to the throne room where Iron Throne is held, Joffrey sitting on it with his crown slightly askew atop his blond head. If your Grace didn’t open his mouth or you didn’t know him and the rumors of his cruel heart hadn’t reached your ears yet, you might think that Joffrey is quite good looking. He’s blond, has straight white teeth, a good build, and comes from a fabulous line of wealth and power; it’s a shame that he’s such a monster.

I stood at the top of the stairs that are off to the side so I could remain out of view and watched her king as he gave his orders and demands with his wicked mother at one side and the Hound and Ser Meryn positioned at the other.

I felt my eyes begin to tear and my face puff with redness once Joffrey gave the orders to Ser Ilyn Payne for him to cut off the poor man’ tongue that sang a song that Joffrey didn’t like. It wasn’t a good song, about Joffrey’s supposed father’s death, but it didn’t call for the removal of his tongue with a hot knife. But the moment the king reaches the steps that I am at, I stop my crying, because I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“You look quite nice,” Joffrey looks me up in down.

“Thank you my Lord,” I tell him quietly.

“Your Grace,” he corrects me. “I’m king now.” I can barely hear him over the poor man’s cries as Ser Ilyn clamps down onto his tongue. “Walk with me; I want to show you something.”

I watch as Joffrey walks off with the expectation of me following him but I cannot pull myself away from the horrible scene taking place in front of me until my view is obscured by the large Hound. “Do as you bid, child.”

Ser Meryn and the Hound as well as two other knights walk closely behind Joffrey and I as we walk the terrace. Joffrey is talking about something that I ignore until I catch him talking about putting a son in me and the realization that I still have to marry this man hits me again. I want to run away. I want to hide from the evil king and his wicked mother and his blood thirsty bodyguards that are all too willing to kill.  

I am completely distracted by my thoughts when Joffrey stops at a small bridge built by wooden planks. I look up curiously to see what he’s smiling at.

“No please, no!” I shout and turn away, squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I can, hoping to stop the image of my father’s head on a stake stop from making its way into my head. I feel hands grip tightly onto my shoulders and I’m forced to turn back around but that doesn’t stop me from looking up.

“This one’s your father; this one here,” Joffrey amuses but I still refuse to look. “Look at it and see what happens to traitors.”

“You promised to me merciful,” I beg him.

“I was, I gave him a clean death,” he says simply, as if that was the heroic thing to do. “Look at him,” he urges me again.

“Please,” I beg. “Let me go home. I won’t do any treason, I swear.”

“Mother says I’m still to marry you, so you’ll stay here, and obey,” he commands me like a dog. “Look at him!” He finally shouts.

Slowly I raise my eyes to the view of my father’s head resting on a stake. It shouldn’t be here, his body shouldn’t be here. He should be in the crypts underneath Winterfell with his sister and the rest of the Stark blood.

“How long do I have to look?” I ask.

“As long as it pleases me. Do you want to see the rest?”

“If it pleases your Grace.”

“That’s your Septa there,” he points at my Septa with her head wrap still in place, face gray as the stones.

“I’ll tell you what,” Joffrey begins again. “I’m going to give you a present. After I raise my armies and kill your traitor brother, I’m going to give you his head as well.”

“Or maybe he’ll give me yours,” I bite back bitterly.

Joffrey looks at me stunned, clearly taken aback by my bold choice of words. “My mother tells me a king should never strike his lady. Ser Meryn?”

Joffrey doesn’t have to elaborate any further before the knight, his hands still gripping my shoulders tightly, turns me to face him. He offers me two painful slaps across my face, cutting my lip open in the process. I turn back to Joffrey to see if he’s pleased with the pain he’s inflicted upon me, of course he is.

I look down at the narrow alley way below the small bridge we’re standing on. I could easily push Joffrey off then follow him to our death. I take a step forward, anger and hatred propelling me when the Hound stops me by placing a light hand on my shoulder and expectantly wipes some of the blood from my face away with his handkerchief.

“Will you obey now, or do you need another lesson?”

I do not answer him but Joffrey takes my silence as a yes and he stalks off mentioning quickly how he’ll see me in court. Ser Meryn quickly follows him but the Hound stays behind for a moment more.

“Save yourself some pain girl,” he tells me. “Give him what he wants.”

I offer him his handkerchief back but the Hound refuses and goes to rejoin the protection of the great king Joffrey.

I look up at my father’s face once more after they’ve all left. He wouldn’t want me to stay here and take the abuse. But I’m a prisoner here and have no ways of escaping. I wouldn’t even know where or how to escape. I do not know where my mother or Rob is right now as they march for Kings Landing. My bastard brother, Jon, who is at the wall, is too far away and the wall is no place for a lady. I couldn’t go back to Winterfell, which would be the first place they would come to look.

I think about Arya and what she would do. I hope she is alive and well, she’s a fighter with Stark blood running through her. I think about what she would do if she was put into my situation. She most certainly wouldn’t obey. Arya would defy the king until her head was placed on the stake next to our father.

Then the Hounds words ring into my ears. _Give him what he wants._ I will give King Joffrey what he wants; only I’ll be doing it my way.


End file.
